


Things left unsaid

by TooManyChoices



Series: The Genetic manipulation series [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 2nd heat, Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Bottom John, Confused John, Confused Sherlock, Fluff and Angst, Knotting, M/M, Omega John, Top Sherlock, Why won't these boys talk?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 06:01:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4379969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooManyChoices/pseuds/TooManyChoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of 'Lab Safety Procedures' Sherlock expected things to change; they didn't. Sometimes the greatest detective in the world, gets it wrong. But with John's 2nd heat approaching, they need to sort things out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things left unsaid

**Author's Note:**

> After the surprising popularity of my first Alpha/Omega fic (This fandom makes me VERY happy) the muse has returned with more in this AU.

_Three months_ , Sherlock thought, _Three… long… months_. He looked at where John was peacefully ensconced in his chair, reading his newspaper, naked knees and shins visible below the lower edge. _This is becoming unbearable!_

Sherlock had expected some repercussions from their exposure to the DNA altering compound and the heat that followed. But he hadn’t anticipated this.  
He’d calculated a more than 90% chance that one of two things would happen:

  * John would have some sort of delayed sexuality crisis following the event, withdraw mentally and, at worst, physically too. He had spent several hours in detailed planning should John suggest moving out.


  * John would embrace their new bonded status and throw himself into their new sexual relationship with gay (pun very much intended) abandon.



In fact, to Sherlock’s frustration, John chose the third option, which was to return to their status before the fateful trip to the lab.

Certainly there was more physical affection. John, seemingly unconsciously, stood far closer at crime scenes. He could feel his Doctor’s eyes follow him as he moved about rooms and, most annoyingly, had increased casual touching by an almost inconceivable amount; lingering fingers when handing over teacups, the brush against an arm or hip when passing through doorways, a hand at the small of his back to guide him in a particular direction.

But as to a repeat of their intimacy in the bedroom, Sherlock felt there’d been a depressing lack of recurrence. More than once he’d tried to subtly suggest that there was an offer on the table but John had simply chuckled fondly and diverted the conversation elsewhere.

 _He MUST know I want him_ , Sherlock thought with growing frustration, _after the visit from Mycroft, SURELY?_

‘The visit from Mycroft’ had come shortly after John’s heat had passed and had ended with Mycroft shoved up against the wall; Sherlock’s long fingers wrapped none too gently around his brother’s neck.

Mycroft had been angry; absolutely burning with barely suppressed rage. While the team had begrudgingly accepted that once John’s heat had hit, there’d been little chance of the outcome being other than the two of them ending up together, Mycroft was furious that Sherlock had bonded with John. As it turned out, John was the first Omega male to present, and the lab team had been practically buzzing with plans to match him with a number of Alpha females they had back at the lab.

At the implication that John, his MATE, might be encouraged to have sex with other Alphas, Sherlock had virtually leapt across the room, thrusting his brother into the wall and before anyone knew quite what was happening, Sherlock had his hand at Mycroft’s throat and the desperate gasps for air were all but drowned out by an almost sub-sonic rumbling growl from Sherlock.

John had gently escorted Mycroft from the flat shortly afterward; having completed a cursory examination of the bureaucrat’s rapidly bruising neck. John returned to the room, colour high in his cheeks and breathing a little unevenly and Sherlock had thought _NOW, John… Bedroom NOW_ as he stood in the sitting-room, hands fisted at his side, quivering with adrenaline and the need to remark his mate.

But John had squared his shoulders, dragged in a shuddering, calming breath and put the kettle on. To Sherlock’s despair, they’d never spoken of it again.

But, as Sherlock sniffed carefully at the air, it seemed they’d need to have the conversation in more blunt terms, and soon.

“Should I leave?” Sherlock asked quietly.

The foot, that had been idly jigging at the end of his crossed leg stilled and John lowered his newspaper, “S’cuse me?”

Sherlock winced, fighting his own instincts and uttering the hateful words again, “I asked if I should leave.”

John’s brow creased, “Yeah, that’s what I thought you said.” He shook his head, “Still doesn’t make sense… What?”

“Or I could arrange a car to take you to the lab.” Every word seemed to carve bloody track in his mouth as he uttered them, “I’m sure they’d be pleased to cater to you.”

John managed, if it were possible, to look even more confused, “Why on earth would I want to go to… the… oh.”

Sherlock nodded as realisation dawned on John, “It’s still early, I’m sure they could arrange someone… to… “ Sherlock’s voice cracked, “… take care of you.” _It’s what you want._

Something complicated shifted in John’s features and his lips pressed more firmly together before he replied, “Yeah… OK… I’ll just… go pack, will I?”

Sherlock stood as smoothly as his quivering muscles would allow, “No need. I packed for you this morning.” _I’ll always take care of you, even if you don’t want me._

The shock on John’s face was more easily read, “Oh… So I’ve been…”

  
“Most of the day, I’ve been trying to ignore it.” Sherlock moved to the kitchen, hoping the fresh air from the window would make the conversation more bearable. _I won’t force myself on you._

The truth was, all he wanted to do was fall at John’s feet and drag his mate to the floor with him. But if John had wanted him beyond physical necessity, he’d have said something in the intervening three months. Clearly their bond-bite was nothing more than a convenience to John, and if his doctor would prefer to spend his heat with… even the thought caught in his throat… someone else, then that was his right. Sherlock needed to respect John’s choice if he was to stand a chance of retaining their friendship. He’d take what he could, he thought bitterly. He’d take _anything_.

John was still sitting in his chair as Sherlock leaned against the kitchen bench, trying to clear his head with lungfuls of smoggy London air, “Sorry” John whispered quietly.

“It’s fine.” Sherlock managed through gritted teeth. _It’s not fine, it’s killing me._

“I know this isn’t what you wanted.” John said sadly, still pinned to his chair.

“It can’t be helped.” _Just go, please._ _I can’t stand it._

“I suppose you’d better call Mycroft.”

“My phone’s on the coffee table, just hit send.” _If I come closer, I won’t let you leave._

“Right.” There was a rattling and an electronic whoosh, “Ok, done.”

“I’ll be in my room.” _I don’t want you to see me break._ He took several steps down the hall before adding, “I’ve packed those new silk pyjamas, they should be less irritating when…” Sherlock paused as he was swamped with images of the last time and leaned heavily against the wall, “…after.” _I would do anything for you._

There was a stifled noise from John’s chair and John cleared his throat, “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to answer but nothing came out. His reserves exhausted, he stumbled the remaining steps to his room before closing the door behind him. Throwing himself face down on the bed, he buried his head in the pillow and desperately muffled his screams of anguish.

**--**

Twenty minutes later, a quiet tap came from the other side of the door.

“Sherlock…”

 _Even the way my name slips from his lips makes my skin tingle_ , Sherlock thought with despair.

“The car’s here. I’m leaving, OK?” John’s voice was hesitant.

 _No, it’s not OK. This is everything BUT OK._ Sherlock turned his face further into the pillow for fear of what might come out of his mouth.

There was silence for a moment, but Sherlock knew John was still there from the tantalising scent easing under the door. Finally John’s voice came, oddly stuttering, “Right… fine…OK. I’ll umm, see you in a few days.” The sound of footsteps receding sounded like gunshots on the timber floor.

The images came thick and suffocating. _A few days… three… during which he’ll be with someone else… not me… my mate… my… John…_ Sherlock groaned as all they’d shared last time assailed him, _John’s body under him, sheened with sweat, flushed with exertion. The noises he’d made, his face as he surrendered time and time again. The whispered words they shared. He’ll say those things to someone else…_ he thought with anguish. _JOHN!_

He was moving before he quite knew what he was doing, whimpering as he heard the door of the flat close. Throwing open his bedroom door hard enough to dent the wall he thundered down the hall, wide eyes confirming the flat was empty. His legs buckled as the cloying, delectable scent in the sitting-room flooded his nose and suddenly nothing mattered more than trying to get John back in the flat, with him.

Flinging the door open, he launched himself toward the landing as he heard the front door open, Mycroft’s voice in soothing tones encouraging John toward the waiting car.

“JOHN!” he shouted at the man in the front doorway.

He saw the ripple run through his mate’s shoulders at his name on Sherlock’s lips. Slowly he turned toward the man on the stairs. John’s eyes were red and bleak as they met Sherlock’s.

“Please…” Sherlock managed a single word.

Bag hanging from his hand, John looked up in resignation, “Please what? Sherlock, I don’t understand.”

“Please… stay.” That dam being burst, the words started to tumble out, “I know I’m not what you want, but please… please, just once more, please stay with me…” Sherlock brushed angrily at the tears that had begun to fall without permission, “…let me look after you one last time. I promise it will be the last time… I’ll let you go next time. PLEASE…I’ll do ANYTHING.” Sherlock’s knees gave out and he crumpled to kneel on the landing, “I’m sorry…” He covered his face with his hands as the tears began to fall in earnest.

Distantly, he heard the sound of John’s bag falling to the floor of their entrance hallway. Lifting his head he saw John standing, mouth agape staring up at him. “Wait… Not ‘what I want’?” John took a shaky step forward, there was a flash of something very much like anger in John’s eyes, “Not… what…I…want?”

Sherlock nodded his head mutely.

“Mr… ‘married to my work’…” John took another step forward, stopping at the bottom step as Mycroft rolled his eyes and huffed in frustration before pulling the front door shut, leaving them alone.

“Mr… ‘sentiment gets in the way’…”

_Yes, that’s definitely anger in his eyes. Anger and…lust… Oh, that’s a surprisingly arousing combination._

John snapped his fingers, “Sherlock, pay attention… I’m not finished.” John took another couple of steps, bringing him within arm’s reach of his mate, “Mr… ‘it’s all just transport’. You think I…” with Sherlock kneeling, John was almost at eye level with him, “don’t want… you?” he emphasised the point with a poke to Sherlock’s chest.

Sherlock nodded again and in a tiny voice said, “You never came to me… since your heat, you’ve never asked.”

“Because I didn’t think you wanted me to.” John waved his arms in frustration and Sherlock swayed as the movement battered him with a fresh wave of pheromones.

“I wanted you to…” Sherlock said weakly.

“Well, I know that NOW! I said _you and me against the rest of the world._ ” John’s anger crested and broke with a frustrated giggle, “You IDIOT, why didn’t you say something?”

“I thought I did.” Sherlock said helplessly, adrift on a tide of arousal and need, "I said I always wanted you. Before... during... after."

“Well then I’m as much an idiot as… you…” John paused to look carefully at his bond-mate, “Sherlock?”

“Mmmm?” Sherlock tried to focus, through the haze of lust. He suspected he’d broken the skin of his palms where his nails were pressed inward.

“On a scale of one to ten…” John ran gentle fingers through Sherlock’s hair and noted how Sherlock arched into his touch, “how close are you to stripping me here on the stairs.”

“Nine…” Sherlock rasped around a shuddering breath, “… and a half.”

John smiled at Sherlock’s dilated eyes and the flush on his cheeks, “Then we’d better get back inside.”

John had barely finished the sentence before Sherlock had manhandled him back through the door, crowding him down the hallway to his room and onto his bed. There was nothing seductive or delicate in the way Sherlock divested them of their clothes and John giggled at the sounds of more than a couple of buttons being sacrificed to his detective’s haste.

“You’d better be ready.” Sherlock mumbled against John’s collarbone, currently being used for balance as he toed off his trousers and socks, “because I’m not going to be able to wait.”

John shivered under Sherlock’s needy grasping at his shoulders, “More than ready… my jeans are ruined” he glanced at where they lay in a sodden pile behind Sherlock. “Fuck, Sherlock. We could have had this for the past three months.”

Sherlock growled and lifted his head to look seriously at John for a moment, “Promise me…PROMISE we won’t go back to how we were again.”

John cupped Sherlock’s cheek, “I Promise. Oh God, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t know, didn’t ask.”

“Not important now,” Sherlock muttered, shuffling John backward until he tumbled onto the bed, with Sherlock following shortly after.

As Sherlock tried to manoeuvre John into position, mindlessly nudging legs apart, John’s authoritive voice cut through the haze, “Sherlock! Listen to me; don’t make me hit you… Wait, just a sec.”

Sherlock grunted and stilled, clarity returning to his eyes, “What?” he asked tersely.

“I need my birth control. Top drawer” As Sherlock rolled his eyes and pursed his lips petulantly he said, more firmly, “Now, Sherlock! C’mon… fight your instincts, genius. Get… the… pills.”

The screaming in his head was hard to overcome, it seemed so reasonable _Babies… mine… ours_ , but the spark of rationality wasn’t completely gone and he rolled to grab the unremarkable box from the drawer, handing over two pills that John dry swallowed.

“That’s my Alpha.” John cemented the behaviour with praise that shouldn’t have made Sherlock flush with pride, yet did anyway, “So smart. Not just some mindless machine. Come here…” John gestured with open arms, purring with happiness as Sherlock fell against him, solid and heavy against him.

“You can let go now, Sherlock.” John was shivering all over, the last of his own restraint faltering as his heat took hold, “You’ve held back so well, but I need you now… I need you to look after me, take care of me, love me…”

Sherlock gasped at the word, Sherlock’s hips surged against him, thrusting instinctively.

“Yes, that’s right. I love you. I love you, and I need you. My Alpha, my Sherlock, my bonded.” John’s words were slurring as his awareness slipped away, murmuring endearments all the while. Sherlock couldn’t have been happier.

“Yours, John. I’m here. I love you, I should have said.” Sherlock looped his arms under John’s thighs and lifted them, noting with delight the wet stain already on the sheets below John’s arse. “So ready for me, look at you.” Sparing a final glance at John’s face, vulnerable and needy, he shifted forward and as he slid smoothly in, John dragged in a long breath, seemingly drawing him deeper as he pushed into the warmth and tightness.

Sherlock had naively hoped that in this second heat he would be able to retain some semblance of control. He’d intended take his time with John and pay homage to his mate’s body in the way he deserved, but at John’s needy whimper, something broke within his mind and his Alpha instinct roared to life. Grabbing at John’s hips, he ground deeper and as the whine was repeated, pulled back to thrust forward again, harder the second time.

“Yes…” muttered John and Sherlock’s Alpha roared in triumph, drunk on his ability to please his Omega, he pulled John toward him again, relishing in the slight vibration of John’s skin at the force of his thrust. John gasped and reached back to grab blindly at the headboard, bracing himself and nodding with eyes closed, “Again…” he shouted.

Sherlock growled and steadied himself, kneeling between John’s spread legs. Gripping John’s thighs he snapped his hips back and forward again, delighting in the way he could already feel his knot beginning to tingle where it was being forced time and again against John’s hole.

“God, Sherlock…” John gulped a shaky breath, “This is better than last time, I didn’t think… that was… possible.”

Sherlock grinned, realising that as the initial wave of frantic lust was slaked, he was becoming able to temper his mindless rutting with more purposeful actions. After the previous three days of heat with John, his mind palace had helpfully stored away a treasure-trove of untapped detail on what his Omega wanted and needed. With access to his rational mind, Sherlock was able to combine it with his Alpha’s stamina and drive, playing John the way he played his beloved violin.

Sherlock canted his hips slightly, knowing not only where John’s prostate was, but the exact pressure needed to drive his mate to the edge of insanity. Nothing mattered but John, nothing was more important than his Omega’s pleasure. How could he have thought of letting John leave, this was what John was made for… for Sherlock. He’d never have anyone else ever again… NEED anyone else ever again. Sherlock shook his head, realising that his concentration was slipping again. John needed him, needed him to take care of them.

Over and over, he drove into John, each time gaining a cry from his lover, each one a little louder, a little more lost than the time before. Seeing the mess John’s cock was making against his abdomen, glistening pre-come smearing wetly, he released his hold on one of John’s legs, freeing up a hand to reach and stroke in time with his thrusts.  
At his touch, he felt John clench around him and couldn’t stifle a groan at the added tightness. John’s eyes opened and cleared momentarily as he smiled up, tensing his pelvic muscles and Sherlock’s vision whited out as he picked up the pace of his thrusts.

“God… More, Sherlock… Yes.” John’s knuckles whitened where they gripped the headboard, pushing back as hard as Sherlock pushed forward. Sherlock knew the signs well by now, the erratic breathing, the slight wriggle in John’s hips as he sought just the right angle, the way he thrust through the circle of Sherlock’s fingers, the rhythm faltering as his eyes screwed shut and his mouth dropped open.

With a final hard thrust, Sherlock breached John’s opening with his knot as it swelled and locked, just as John arched with a groan and covered his fingers and John’s chest. As John’s orgasm spasmed around his cock, he felt his own release jerk and fill John, and he desperately clutched at John’s thigh as he shuddered and twitched.

With now practiced experience, Sherlock managed to reposition them so they could comfortably catch their breath while they waiting for Sherlock’s knot to release them. He raised a shaky hand to wipe a bead of sweat that was threatening to roll into John’s eye and John grabbed at it before he could pull away, placing a tender kiss on his fingertips.

“My bond-mate,” John whispered.

“ _MY_ bond-mate,” Sherlock replied.

John entwined their fingers, “No more rubbish about me not wanting you, OK?” John said tiredly.

“No more rubbish about no sex between heats,” Sherlock countered.

“Agreed.” John lay quietly for a moment before adding, “I’d forgotten how good this felt.”

Sherlock blushed as he felt himself pulse within John again and his mate shivered, “I hadn’t.”


End file.
